


A Million to One

by LuxKen27



Series: Count Me In [6]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxKen27/pseuds/LuxKen27
Summary: “Don’t look now,” her teammate murmured, elbowing Janine in the ribs, “but I think that guy is staring at you.”





	A Million to One

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The _Baby-sitters Club_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1986 – 2000 Ann M. Martin/Scholastic Corporation. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Further author’s notes can be found [here](https://luxken27.dreamwidth.org/798764.html).

~*~

“Don’t look now,” Marie-Thérèse murmured, elbowing Janine in the ribs, “but I think that guy is staring at you.”

Janine frowned, her eyes scanning her last-minute calculations. She’d made a mistake somewhere, but it wasn’t readily obvious. She trailed her pencil down the side of the page, the mathematical computations automatically surging through her brain.

“ _Janine_ ,” Marie-Thérèse persisted, her elbow accidentally-on-purpose pushing Janine’s pencil through the hasty scribbles this time.

Janine closed her eyes, pursing her lips into a grim line. “Marie-Thérèse, are you not aware that telling someone _not_ to do something is most likely to result in said person completing said forbidden action?” she responded through clinched teeth.

Her teammate snorted. “ _I’m_ not, but apparently you are,” she countered. “I’m telling you, Stone-Cold Hottie at three o’clock, and he is checking you out big time!”

Janine didn’t need to look up to know to whom her erstwhile teammate was referring. She also didn’t feel the need to let her know that he’d been doing a whole lot more than simply looking at her the last couple of days. Her cheeks heated as memories of their impromptu reunion momentarily flooded her mind. Their bet was still very much in play, hence the need for total concentration on something other than the smoldering gaze of Charlie Thomas.

“I think he’s undressing you with his eyes,” Marie-Thérèse continued with a cat-like look of her own.

Janine arched her brows at that, but still didn’t look up from her paper. _Concentrate_ , she commanded herself, going through the numbers for a third time in rapid succession. They were on a time limit, and she had to finish this if she wanted her team to have any shot in their semifinal match. 

Nevertheless, the hard-etched lines began to blur together as Marie-Thérèse’s words bounced around her brain. _Undressing you with his eyes…undressing you with his eyes…undressing you with his eyes…_

They’d slipped away from their respective teams every evening of the competition, after the compulsory team dinner and before the team curfews. They treasured these precious pockets of time, comparing notes, exchanging banter, laughing and hugging and kissing and caressing until there was nothing but heat and desperation between them, rising along an edge of increasing urgency. He’d made it more than clear that he wanted to move their physical relationship forward, and she’d been just as clear that she wasn’t ready for that yet. As much as she enjoyed being with him, she was also terribly afraid – not of him, but of the exposure, the vulnerability, and her own relative lack of experience.

She could feel the intensity of his stare even now, from across a crowded auditorium. It simultaneously thrilled her and scared her to death.

“Mmm, if you don’t want him, I’ll be more than willing to climb that tree,” Marie-Thérèse mused under her breath, rubbing her hands together and preparing to flash her winningest smile.

That caught Janine’s attention; before she could stop herself, she shot her teammate a stricken look. Marie-Thérèse’s flirtatious nature had near-legendary status in robotics lab circles. She was extremely popular with the boys, what with her bright green eyes and luscious auburn-streaked hair and a figure most cheerleaders would envy. Her interest in the opposite sex rivalled even the randiest teenage boy, and she was always quick to reel in her prey. Spending an evening in her company could elevate the status of any guy lucky enough to be the center of her attention. She was very experienced, and apparently very good at what she did.

Janine quickly schooled her features as she looked across the way. Her intuition had been right: it was indeed Charlie who was gazing at her, though when their eyes met, his expression clouded with concern. She offered an almost imperceptible shake of her head and quickly looked back down at her figures, still searching for her mistake.

The countdown was closing in fast. Her teammates were waiting, and she would not let them down.

By happenstance, MIT and UCLA had ended up on opposite sides of the Vex U bracket. The collegiate competition was a single-elimination tournament, which meant that their teams couldn’t meet until the final. That was fine by Janine, but Charlie didn’t want to hedge his bets on their wager not coming to fruition. After some serious cajoling, she agreed to alter the terms slightly. Though the optimal outcome was still a head-to-head/winner-take-all battle, now the winner could be the one whose team made it the furthest in the competition. The loser would still pay the boon of spending the night with the winner, and being agreeable to whatever activities the winner suggested.

Given how they had been spending their time together so far, Janine had a fair idea of what Charlie would want if he won.

“You have to admit, he’s not like most of the other guys here,” Marie-Thérèse said, once again breaking into Janine’s thoughts. “He doesn’t seem to be taking much interest in his own team, either. It makes you wonder just what exactly his role is, no?”

No, Janine considered, she didn’t have to wonder, because it quickly became evident once the competition began. This year’s theme was “Nothing But Net”; the goal was to have their robot score more points than their competitors’ by picking up and throwing balls through hoops that were arranged at various heights around the competition arena. Each team had a low net and a high net, and the points were doubled if they scored on their opponent’s side instead of their own, so the robots had to be both offensively and defensively sound. The heights of the four hoops were never the same twice, and were only announced 15 minutes before the beginning of each round, hence the need for last-minute calculations for a team to adjust their robot’s mechanics.

All it took was one look at the UCLA robot in action to realize that its hook shot was based on a real-life trajectory: the jumpshot of one Charlie Thomas, the only college athlete present, and the home team’s apparent ace in the hole.

He more or less confirmed this during one of their clandestine meetings, in between their exchanges of good-natured teasing and scorching hot kisses. 

They had both been keeping a keen eye on the contest. During the early rounds, each side of the bracket competed simultaneously, with the teams on the other side free to roam around and observe. Charlie and Janine both took full advantage, gathering intel not only for themselves, but for each other. They compared notes on the other’s opponents, both too fiercely competitive to stoop to unfairly undermining each other’s teams.

Both MIT and UCLA had advanced through their brackets with relative ease on that first day; the second day led to more of the same, though the competition was getting tougher. The third day consisted of the quarterfinal and semifinal rounds, and, for the first time, both sides of the bracket would be competing simultaneously.

MIT’s team was democratic. Half the team would do the calculations beforehand, while the other half operated the robot during the competition. They would switch after every round. Janine had operated the robot in the second and quarterfinal rounds, and had worked on calculations for all the others. Their opponent in the semifinal was the University of Auckland, who had more or less blitzed their way through their quarter with alarming efficiency. 

Janine had just found her mistake when she heard Marie-Thérèse gasp beside her. “Don’t look now,” she hissed, “but Mr. Stone-Cold Hottie is heading this way!”

Janine didn’t have time for Marie-Thérèse’s theatrics. She corrected her calculations and pushed her way over to the half of her team who would operate the robot. “Here are the computations,” she told them hurriedly, reaching over to help adjust the robot’s throwing arm.

She felt the whisper of a touch around her waist; by the time she looked up, Charlie was halfway across the room, ostensibly heading for UCLA’s arena on the opposite side. She frowned at his back as she reached into the pockets of her sweater, until her left hand closed over a crumpled piece of paper.

She quickly withdrew and unfolded it. _Watch out for the thumb_ , he’d scrawled in barely-legible handwriting.

“Oh, no,” she breathed, glancing up in time to see the Auckland team affixing a small piece of metal to the end of their robot’s throwing arm. She searched for a similar piece on MIT’s table and grabbed it up just as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the preparation period.

It was too late.

The overhead speakers rumbled to life. “Teams, please assemble in your designated arenas.”

Janine’s teammates picked up their robot and moved over to their arena. They were the blue team this time, against the higher-seeded red team. The tall red hoop was set at an impossibly steep angle, but their low one was far more reasonable. The blue team nets were closer together, offering a tantalizing possibility. It would be easier to go for their own nets to try to rack up points – but the same could also be said for their competition. MIT needed their robot to be in top defensive shape if they were to have any chance at all.

Janine watched with a sinking heart as the buzzer sounded and the semifinal round began. MIT’s robot moved into position, launching the pre-loaded balls into its own nets. It quickly became obvious that their tactics were to play to their own nets instead of the higher risk/higher reward of trying for their opponents’. They’d built out the robot arm to reach the caches of balls on their side of the arena so that the robot wouldn’t have to move in order to pick them up.

Auckland’s robot was also gunning for their nets, racking up double points when they managed to score. The thumb piece allowed their robot’s arm to grip the ball in a slightly different way, arc it at a slightly better angle, and giving them the chance to reload quickly. Their robot did have to travel to their side of the arena to pick up their balls, but even only making half the shots gave them the same number of points as MIT making all of theirs.

Janine averted her eyes as she heard her teammates’ gasps of surprise when they realized what Auckland was doing. She drifted into the back of the crowd, not wanting to witness this monumental fuckup, which was partially her fault. 

If she’d made the correct calculations in the first place, instead of wasting precious time looking for her mistake. 

If only Marie-Thérèse had been paying attention to their opponent, instead of scoping out the hot guy across the room. 

They would’ve had more time to observe Auckland’s build, and maybe one of them would’ve caught their tactical thumbpiece in time to help negate the advantage it was giving them.

It felt like the longest five minutes of Janine’s life as she stood there, watching Auckland’s score creep up to – and eventually overtake – MIT’s.

It was almost a relief when the buzzer sounded again, signaling the end of the round.

Her MIT teammates, including Marie-Thérèse, looked shell-shocked by their loss.

Janine thought she was going to be sick.

She turned away, bumping and winding her way through the crowd, unable to face her teammates just yet. She’d made it just to the edge of the room when she ran into something solid. She took a step back, unsure if she’d hit another person or a pillar, but ready to offer a hasty apology to either, the itch to escape burning just under her skin.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie murmured, sweeping her into his arms before she even realized that he was standing there.

She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply, the pain of the loss still roiling in her stomach, threatening to bring up her lunch.

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” he continued, rubbing smooth circles over the small of her back.

She swallowed hard. “You didn’t,” she managed to choke out. “It was my error.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he soothed, holding her close as the crowd milled around them. “You have five teammates who had just as much of a chance to see what was going on and try to prepare for it. Especially since we _both_ know that this isn’t the first time Auckland has used the thumbpiece.”

She conceded his point, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She’d let her teammates down by taking so long with the calculations in the first place. They needed the calculations in order to complete their robot’s build, so even if they’d known about the thumbpiece in time, her taking so long had cost them precious moments to put the finishing touches on their own robot.

As if he could read her mind, Charlie gently clasped her shoulders and brought her to eye level. “It’s not your fault,” he reiterated. 

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I guess this means you’ve won our wager,” she said softly.

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? My team lost.”

“So did mine,” he informed her, cutting his eyes over his shoulder and tipping his head back towards the scoreboard.

Janine’s jaw dropped as she took in the results: _Auckland 82-70 MIT, Queensland 68-60 UCLA._

“I don’t believe it!” she cried, looking back at Charlie. Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “What are the odds that our teams would both fall in the same round?!”

“Um, a million to one?” he guessed, his eyes dancing with mirth.

She collapsed into giggles as she fell into him again, wrapping her arms around his waist and muffling her slightly hysterical laughter into his sweatshirt. “So does this mean we both lose?” she mused aloud.

“You _could_ think of it like that,” he contended, hugging her close before allowing his hands to slide down over the curves of her hips. “Or,” he offered, his breath warm on the shell of her ear, “you could think of it as both of us winning.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “And if we both win…”

“…then we get to spend _two_ nights together,” he concluded, nibbling lightly on her earlobe. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Her breath shuttered in her lungs, her hands closing into fists around the soft material of his sweatshirt as he continued to nip a playful trail along the line of her throat. “H-how do we decide who wins first?”

“Hmm,” he considered, nuzzling her neck, sending wisps of electric heat fluttering down her spine. His dark curls brushed softly against her cheek, and she leaned into the caress, burying her nose in his hair. 

He flicked his tongue across the pulse point at her throat before reaching back to clasp one of her hands in his. “I think I won first,” he contended, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles. “We only lost by eight points, after all. Plus, you’re already here, so…?” He allowed his voice to trail off suggestively, lifting his brows as he watched her carefully consider his case.

She regarded him for a long moment, conflicting emotions swirling through her. Was she ready for whatever he had in mind?

Would she ever be?

“All right,” she finally agreed, swallowing hard. “My return ticket is set for Sunday.”

Charlie’s expression melted into a heat-inducing smile, one she felt deep in the core of her being. “So we have exactly one night.”

Janine nodded, her eyes falling to his mouth. “The rest of the team will probably want to change their tickets to an earlier flight because of the loss, but I won’t. I’ll stay,” she promised, her heart pounding hard against her ribs.

“And I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed, brushing another kiss on the back of her hand.


End file.
